1
He is 9, and the summer day is impossibly hot, the wind ruffling his hair and his skinny arms beating away bugs as he sees the men load the last of Mary's belongings into a carriage.
She's inside the castle still and when he sees her walk out, there are trails of tears running down her cheeks and her little nose is red, and he just wants to crush this girl to his chest and hold her there forever. (This, Francis will come to now later, is a feeling that will not fade away for as long as he lives.)
He's about to run to her when his father lays down a heavy hand on his shoulder, and shakes his head. She walks to where he is, his father and mother by his side, and curtsies.
"I would like to thank your majesty for his consideration." She says, looking at his father, "and your grace for her kindness." She says, directed at his mother. She stands tall (or as stall as that skinny little girl can be) staring up at them, serious, even with tear tracks drying on her cheeks. "Thank you for having me."
"You're welcome, your grace. We were honored to have you stay at court, and we are regretful to have to send you away; but it is for your own safety and education, surely the queen has explained that to you?" His father asks her, and for a moment Francis is ridiculously jealous that she thanked his father when he is the one who played with her everyday and helped her with her French, but he knows his father is king, and that's how it works, so he swallows his bitterness.
"Yes your majesty. " She answers him, and her voice quivers.
"Francis, do you have anything to say to your betrothed?" His father asks him, squeezing his shoulder. Mary's brown eyes brighten, and search his face, but all he can do is look at the floor.
"It's been a pleasure to have you at court, your grace; and although I am sad to see you go, I know in the future we will meet again and our marriage shall bring great things to both our countries." He recites the words his mother told him, and offers her a bow, at which she curtsies again.
Mary and Francis look at each other then, sad and confused, as he says goodbye with words that aren't his.
.
2
Afterwards his mother says "Very well then, Mary. Have a safe journey." She nods at her, and then grabs his father by the arm, "Come Henry, let Francis help her onto the carriage, I heard the servants were asking for you earlier."
And she takes his father away from then and inside the castle walls, with one last look over her shoulder at Francis. He looks away from them at the girl standing in front of him, all angles and bones, brown eyes and black hair.
"Mary." He just says, and he can't cry, because only girls cry certainly not boys and much less boys who will be king one day. So he can't cry. But he can reach for her hand, and he does, holding her tiny fingers inside his own and fighting to say something, anything, because after years of chasing each other down the halls and exploring secret passageways and rolling on the grassy hills when his mother wasn't looking, their minutes are numbered now. And he knows he won't see her again for a long time.
She starts crying. Something inside him hurts.
"Are you going to miss me?" She asks him, her voice airy and thin. As if she was already gone.
He wishes he knew what to say. He wishes he wasn't 9 but older and knew the answers to everything, knew how make her stay. He wishes he was like Bash who even at 11 can charm his way through any wrong doings. He wishes he was more, that he could say what she wants to hear but he doesn't know how.
It scares him just like it scares him that he doesn't know what he will do. That he doesn't remember how it was before his mother pushed this girl in front of him, and told him she was a queen and they were to be married.
It's sadness like he's never had to feel before, and he doesn't know who's going to be there for him now, because the only person who knows how to feel sad with him is now the reason why he's sad in the first place
So he just pulls her hand to his mouth and lays a kiss on her palm, and it's new and something he's never seen anyone do before, but it feels right. And Mary blushes as he says goodbye with no words at all.
.
3
Francis wishes now, more than anything, that they were normal people. If they were they wouldn't be trapped in a castle full of enemies, trying to protect everyone from harm, even at the cost of their own lives. So he wishes they were nobodies, but they aren't, they are leaders. And it falls on their shoulders to protect and lead to safety.
Right now, the urgent atmosphere pressing on them, Mary is not a 15 year old girl but a 15 year old queen, and he is not a person but a means to get revenge. So they make do with what they have.
He is not innocent, far from it but his brothers are, and the people inside these walls. Their people. So he may deserve what could happen, but they don't and should not have to face it, and so he starts to accept her plan.
He is inspired by her, and her bravery. And thinks that as good as the plan is, anything could go wrong, and if it did he could very well lose her forever and that knowledge is cold and heavy in his chest as he apologizes for his foolishness and tries to tell her he loves her. She stops him with an "I know".
She has faith in him, that he can help everyone escape. And he trusts her to save herself; of course he does, but that doesn't stop the dread of thinking something might happen to her. He can only utter "by God, Mary" before he crushes his mouth to hers, saying goodbye at the same he tries hard not to let it be one.
/
Not even a week later Francis watches her run away from him, galloping as fast as the horse will go and he doesn't get to say goodbye at all.
.
And the one time Mary says goodbye to Francis
He's been in and out of consciousness for a week, and even though it's been three days since the physician announced that he was lost to this world, just now is when Mary lets herself imagine it.
The room is unbearably hot, and Francis' sweaty, pale figure disappears beneath a sea of sheets. She comes closer to the bed, aching from being apart from him.
"Mary." He croaks out, as if feeling her presence in the room. Or it could just be that he's hallucinating again, they told her Francis continually called out her name. She tries hard not to let tears fall, as she takes a sit on the bed.
"I'm here" she says, and pushes blond locks away from his face, his forehead so hot she can barely stand to touch it.
He opens his eyes, those infinitely sky blue eyes, the whites tinted with red but remaining just as beautiful. And they see her and not see her. His gaze wanders around only for his eyes to roll back on his head again.
A tear rolls down her cheek as she smoothes down his shirt, over and over again; praying silently, like she's been doing since he got sick. Don't take him away from me, please please please.
She clutches his sheet in one fits as a sob fights its way of her throat. His eyes open suddenly at the sound, and she tries to soothe him, her hand on his chest.
"It's all right." She suddenly hates herself for disturbing him. "I'm here, it's all right." His eyes wonder around, and settle on her face. She can see something in them, for the firs time in days. Recognition. He knows who she is, and hope, however small, flickers in her chest again.
"I'm here Francis" She tells him, leaning in closer. "I love you, I'm never leaving you." She makes sure he knows.
He manages a smile, and tries to raise his hand to her face but he is too weak. "No," she grabs his arm, pushing it back down to the bed. "You need to save your strength."
He is looking intently at her, and tries again despite her protests.
"Mary." He coughs, and her hands tremble like his breathing. " I… don't think…"
"No, don't do that." Don't say goodbye
"Mary..."
He tries to hold her head again and this time she complies, helping him. She raises his hand and holds it to her cheek, her other hand on his chest, over his heart.
"…I…I love you…" His voice is faint as he speaks, like with every word a little bit of life escapes him.
"I know." She tells him, and just smiles, hopes he doesn't feel her tears against his palm. She leans down over him, and presses her lips to his. He is too weak to reciprocate, but she can feel his lips turn up in a smile. "I love you too." she whispers, I love you, again and again, against his eyelids, into his neck, holding his hand long after it stops holding hers back. "I'm yours. I love you." She says it again, makes sure he knows if this is the last time God allows for her to tell him.
Sobs try to leave her body, hitting her rib cage like punches to tender flesh, but she doesn't give in. She needs to be strong for him. So she takes a deep breath before gathering the strength to look at him again. She rises from her place against his shoulder. His eyes are closed now. "Francis?" He's even paler than before, barely moving. And he doesn't respond when she calls.
Mary feels the unnatural cold that settles over his body, the heart beneath her hand slowing down. She lets her tears fall freely now, the pain unbearable and almost blinding. Her lips touch his one last time, as she says goodbye with a kiss.